


We Are One In Twisted Nerve

by Semi_Weird_Shipper



Series: Weirdo's Slasher/Bad Guy Stories [15]
Category: American Horror Story: Murder House, Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: And Danny is your best friend, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fights, Frank has issues, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Oh, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, So does Tate, Suspense, Threats of Violence, Trust Issues, Your just trying to cope, alright, bye, just because I can!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_Weird_Shipper/pseuds/Semi_Weird_Shipper
Summary: Senior year is starting and the teacher has decided to pair everyone up in permanent groups. Lucky for you, you get to be paired up with a deranged bully, and a deranged weirdo. Let's see how this year will turn out in the end!Ya'llreallythought I didn't ship Tate? *Scoffs* How dare you.... Seriously, let's all admit, Frank vs Tate is a romantic battle we all want to see go down in history. I mean... At leastIdo...
Relationships: Frank Morrison/Reader, Tate Langdon/Reader
Series: Weirdo's Slasher/Bad Guy Stories [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744741
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	We Are One In Twisted Nerve

The beginning of senior year was like starting the last episode to your favorite show. After years and years of agonizing, tiresome, joyful and impractical school experience, you were more than ready for it to end. It would be a rather suspenseful stretch but you were positive you would make it through to the end. You may not be the brightest book on the shelf but you were extremely organized and intelligent in all the aspects that truly mattered. Neatly composed too. Several teachers envied you even though you strayed from their praise less the other kids treat you worse than you already were for being the favorite.

It wasn't like it was necessarily your fault. Being the mature, smart, composed kid who sat quietly in the back row of the class only to rise to answer questions every now and then was a skill any other person could hone if they just grew the willpower. Popularity, sports, clubs, parties and pretty much anything to do with severe social drawings you tried to avoid. Simply not interested, you kept mostly to yourself, only speaking up when you truly had to. It was a reputation that had gotten you this far without becoming too discombobulated, and you planned to graduate just the same.

Having skipped it junior year to wrap up math and science to make room for some of your more favorable classes, you found yourself having to take your last Literature course at the end of each day. It wasn't anything to stress over though. You loved Literature; it was basically your best credit recourse. Acing this class would be easier than slicing cheesecake.

Or so you thought...

"Good afternoon everyone," Said Mr. Francis as he stood in front of his hefty, wooden desk, his hands clasped together as he gazed upon the classroom. His dark brown jacket glided peacefully with the tune of his light movements as he announced kindly, "I hope you've all had a wonderful summer... Probably just glad that it's your last year I bet."

You sat somewhat in the middle of the classroom in an attempt to avoid the more sinister kids at the back. Plus, you wanted to be closer to Mr. Francis who had been both your idle and math teacher for three years straight. It was a little strange that he'd be teaching Literature this year but you wouldn't complain. He was an extremely kind, gentle man and, honestly, one of your greatest inspirations in this tiny, cheap town. To you there was no one greater.

The aura of the classroom remained symmetrical to that of pure boredom and exhaustion as kids blinked slowly, eagerly awaiting the final bell to ring. You grow a small smile and listen intently as Mr. Francis spoke again, "As you can see on the board, my name is Mr. Francis. Some of you may have possibly had me in previous math classes, but ironically this year I will be teaching Literature."

"Get tired of making kids fail math, huh?" Asked a random kid from the back of the classroom.

Some kids laughed while others merely glowered. You weren't too phased until someone else suddenly inquired, "At least some of us have the brains to pass geometry."

"You stupid bitch, I-"

"Right. That's enough. Settle down," Mr. Francis clapped his hands loudly and explained quickly, "Its been a stressful day for all of us so I'll be cool and make this easy for ya'll, alright? First we're gonna do pre-assigned seating arrangements."

You bow your head as several kids groaned miraculously at the mention of assigned seating arrangements. Not very many teachers had them. Mr. Francis hadn't been a fan of such undignified student treachery, but this year must be different. He was teaching something completely opposite of his favorite topic after all. You didn't mind. Seating arrangements didn't normally bother you unless you were sitting beside someone who could never keep their mouth shut.

"Oh, quit boo-hooing. I only got one box of tissues ya know?" Mr. Francis joked and grabbed his clipboard before clearing his throat, "Now then... You will each be assigned to a group of three. This group will last until the end of the year unless someone new happens to join us or you have trouble getting along with one another. Now... Stand up please."

You tilt your head and utter a small sigh as you gathered your binder into your arms after slipping your backpack on. All the other kids did similar, gathering their resting items and standing up to move to the outer edges of the desks. Mr. Francis moved to the back row and began to address the names of the students who would be sitting together. You rock yourself patiently, eyes gazing around in curiosity of who you might end up with. There were about eighteen kids in the room so it wasn't too superstitious of a guess. You hoped you ended up with at least one quiet, simple group member.

After waiting for three groups of names to be called out and watching as the owners went to unhappily sit down at their assigned table, you finally found yourself enlightened at the sound of your own name being called. Albeit relieved to sit down, you were robbed of your comfort and hospitality as you heard the names of the other two group members.

"(y/n), Tate Langdon and Frank Morrison will be group four right here."

What? Your heart felt as if it had stopped beating in sickening disbelief as you watch the two boys wander carelessly to the three tables clumped together in the middle of the room. One of them wore a long black trench coat, a more than wrinkled, maroon t-shirt, combat boots and black jeans decorated with a vast arrangement of chains and spikes. His blond hair was slicked back and his dark brown eyes shined with a chilling level of loathing and isolation. The other was more easy on the eyes with his simple grey jacket, blue jeans, and cheap, black boots. His hair was a short brown, his hazel eyes simple yet glowing will malicious intent and deviousness.

If their appearance wasn't unsettling, then the remembrances of their particular reputations were. For a few minutes you found yourself mostly frozen, unable to properly move or believe that this was real. It couldn't be. Mr. Francis would never do that to you. He wouldn't pair you up with these... these freaks.

As the teacher in question cleared his throat and gave you a gentle head tilt in gesture to the now sitting students, you suck in a quick breath and make your way to your spot in the group. Which, unfortunately for you, happened to be right in between the two boys. You feel yourself sulking quite unhappily as you pull out your chair and squeeze yourself in, trying to seem small in order of keeping distance between the three of you. Head tilted downward, you notice one of them looking at you with an intensity that was burning your very skull.

After a moment of feeling the lingering eyes, you turn your head and offer Tate a small smile, feeling terribly disoriented by his edgy staring. Unexpectedly he smiled back, his dark brown eyes squinting genuinely to your simple gesture of kindness. At that he turned his head slightly and began staring at the boy on the other side of you. At first you were confused but then understood what he was doing and politely sat back, chest heavy with discontent and faint frustration. You gaze forward, throat awkwardly lumped as you listened to the sound of the teacher listing off names in the background. 

Whilst Tate's eyes weren't necessarily dead set on you, the fact that they were still pointed in your direction was sinister enough. To flask your curiosity, you follow his gaze and look at the boy to your left. Frank, was it? Besides having Tate in a few science classes, you didn't quite recognize nor know much about Frank Morrison- just that he got held back a grade and had a reputation for severe bullying. Way to go Mr. Francis. Now how were you going to pass Literature without suffering a black eye or stolen homework? 

Yet as you look at him, you feign serenity in his posture, a fine level of relaxation and simplicity. Unlike Tate who was always staring wide-eyed at the most random things, Frank merely sat back casually, his head tilted downward and hands shoved into his pockets as he quietly listened to the teacher. Either he was having a first bad day or, like you, was dissatisfied by the grouping, or he merely wanted to go home. Any way, you found yourself slightly more hopeful that he maybe at least a little bit more kind than you previously assumed.

"Alright class, I'm gonna give you a moment to introduce yourselves- get comfortable in your new groups," The teacher spoke as he wrote down a few sentences on the whiteboard, "Here are some questions I'd like you to ask each other. See if you have anything in common- maybe jazz or showing up late for class." 

As you gaze at the questions, you blink in faint surprise as you hear the blonde haired kid beside you quickly say, "I like skate boarding." 

Turning your head, you offer a small smile, your heart throbbing awkwardly as you try to think of something positive to say. "That sounds like fun," You state, your eyes squinting in joy getting to know something simple about the normally sketchy kid. 

"Do you skateboard too?" Tate asked, his expressions and gestures more than exaggerated as his focus remained dead set on you.

And man was it flustering. You unconsciously feel your cheeks heat up in unknown embarrassment from the attention, and awkwardness towards the fact that you weren't entirely a social person. "I have roller skates," You admit while thinking about the old set of shoes you had. It had been quite a while since you rode in them. 

"Really?" Tate's face grew instantly intrigued as he grinned in hope, his voice stuttering as he waved between the two of you, "Th-that's great. We should go skating together some time." 

You nod simply to make him happy even though you never truly planned to set the notion in literal progress. "That would be fun," You say, your lips staying drawn in a small smile. 

Tate's grin faltered, his eyes squinting at you for a moment before returning to its simple joy. There was something strange about it, but you figured it was best not to think too much about it. "And what about you?" He asked suddenly, his hands pushing himself up slightly so he could see past you. 

You sit back again so that the blonde could better communicate with the more quiet kid. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him, your chest tingling with a tiny, barely noticeable wave of discomfort. If rumor had it, Frank Morrison was a severe bully. Didn't he even get sent to jail once? You knew he got suspended a few times. It was best not to assume what you didn't fully know, especially when the words came out of other peoples mouths. Still... It was a start. Granted a bad start, but you know... Hopefully he wasn't as bad as everyone said he was. 

"Yeah, I have a skateboard," His voice was challenging, rough and playful all at once, and you could feel your heart beat in strain at the familiar sound of sass in it as you watch him give you and Tate both a rude, judgemental glower, "Doesn't mean I'm going out with you two fucking losers any time soon." 

Welp. So much for hope. You feel yourself sag in disappointment, the light sting in your chest being sanded away by empathy and self control. Your eyes met and you blinked slowly before turning your head back towards the table. This was going to be a long, long year. 

"Well it wasn't like anyone was asking you anyway, ass hole," Tate's face was twisted into a rather serious, frightening stare that wasn't as easy going as Frank's challenging, bully glare.

Stomach dropping, you turn towards the blonde and lift your hand up leisurely, a bright, optimistic smile blooming across your internally exhausted face. "My skates are Impala," You inquire with a warm squinting of your eyes, "They're blue with pink sunflowers on them. What's your skateboard like?"

Tate's unsettling stare moved down to you, and you fight as hard as you possibly can to keep your calm, happy facade up in order of avoiding conflict and keeping the peace. He blinked, his eyes drifting back and forth between you and Frank for a few seconds before his shoulders visibly relaxed and his eyes thankfully widened in what you wanted to assume was content. "Oh-I-my design is a skull with a galaxy and-here... I'll show you a picture," He somewhat stuck his tongue out as he dug into his back pocket.

Even though your heart was pounding in dread inside your chest, you were greatly thankful for the avoidance of conflict and the acceptable fact that at least one of your group members was for the most part sane. You just hoped that Frank didn't bother you too much. You really didn't want to be the school laughing stock or a bloody, self conscious mess. It was already going to be trouble enough keeping these two idiots apart as it was. You really didn't need more stress than what you already were getting.

"Here," Tate lifted out his phone to which you feel vague un-amusement towards. Who still uses a flip-phone these days... Your eyes gazed down at the rather small, blurry photo, taking in the colors and patterns of the skateboard. Looks like we got another hentai fan. Honestly, it wasn't surprising. 

You smirk and look at him with a small nod of approval. "It's really cool looking," And that was true. Although very much resembling manga, the board was sturdy and had a beautiful picture of a skull filled with flowers and a galaxy background.

Tate gave off a little chuckle as he pulled the phone back and said almost bashfully, "Thanks... Do you really like it?"

You squint your eyes a little but immediately nod your head. "Mhm," Why'd he have to ask again?

"I... I drew it," He admitted as if it were a sin, his eyes hesitant as they gazed up at you after a moment of silence.

You weren't entirely shocked but you were pretty impressed. While you imagined the artwork was most likely homemade or requested, you hadn't suspected that Tate had actively drawn it himself. But then again, there was little you really knew about him to begin with so expectations were better left unapproached. Your lips pursed in visual impression as you stare back down at the phone, "Really? That's amazing. You did an awesome job there."

"Thanks..." Tate rubbed the back of his head almost anxiously, and you were highly amused to see the unavoidable redness of his pale cheeks- very mismatched against the dark choice of his outfit.

A small gaze at the board made your chest swell with slight indignation and desire of avoiding extreme, nagging silence. "I work at the Easy-Go store in downtown," You stated although it wasn't necessary information that needed to be given out. You just wanted to avoid the awkwardness silence usually so happily brought.

"Isn't that the place with the old sports car sitting out front?" Tate asked, his dark brown eyes squinting in an attempt at remembrance.

You nod your head and say, "Yeah. After October I'll have worked there a whole year. The manager said if I make it then he would take me for a ride."

"Whoa- no shit?" Tate's eyes widened in amazement as he chuckled lightly, "That's so cool- how come I've never seen you there before?"

"I work part time," You smile and shrug your shoulders in dismissal, "I'm not aloud full time until I turn eighteen."

"Why the fuck do you have a job for?" Asked Frank who's voice was laced with that heavy judgment you so badly wished to avoid, and there was an edgy amount of pressuring malice in there as well that had your skin breaking out in a timid sweat.

Turning your head straight, you bite your lip, your eyes refusing to look over at the roudy teen as you state promptly, "I live by myself and have to take care of my mom. So... I figured a job was necessary to try and help survive, you know?" You tilt your head back towards Tate and immediately ask, "Are you into arts?"

Beside you, you could feel Frank's heated eyes blistering holes through you, and you suddenly got a sickening intuition considering the fact that he now knew where you worked. Hopefully he wouldn't try anything stupid. You nearly sag in visual distress. Why did you have to do this to yourself?

Tate blinked a few times, his lips parting in a manner that seemed as though he intended to comment or say something smart, but then he ended up lowering his head with a tiny twitch of his shoulders. "I-I don't like to draw that much, ha. I really suck at it," He swallowed, his cheeks that amusing, light pink as he gave you a shy glance.

Strange kid. You smile and reassure him, "I'm sure you don't."

"If only you could see it," Tate gave off another funny laugh.

Before you got to respond, you were thanking whatever grace was dwindling in the world that the teacher cleared his throat and rose his voice, "Alright everyone, settle down... I hope you all got to share something about yourselves. If not then there will be plenty of time later. Now to start off the year, we are going to be reading Hamlet by the one and only Shakespeare himself."

While many kids seemed to automatically slouch and groan in disliking at the disgraceful mention of the deeply concentrated story, you weren't too bothered. While Shakespeare wasn't entirely your favorite author to read, it was interesting and manageable to get through. You didn't mind it at all.

"Before I hand out the books, I would like you all to take out your composition notebooks and write a brief analysis on what you believe the story is about as I read the summary," Announced the teacher as he lifted up a random book from the large, plastic tub in front of him.

While Mr. Francis began to read off the summary, you slid your notebook from your binder and fish out a click pencil. To your right, Tate dug rather sloppily through his messy backpack while Frank sat motionlessly to your left. Hesitating, you slowly give the more antisocial kid a brief once over and notice with a ping in your heart that he had absolutely nothing. No backpack, no binder, not even a pencil. Even Frank's clothes were almost unnoticeably shoddy, and beneath the layers of unkempt clothing you wonder if he was possibly malnourished. It was hard to tell putting his reputation under consideration. Maybe he just didn't want to cooperate.

Turning your eyes back down to your notebook, you began to write down your depictions. The open, empathetic part of yourself screamed to ask if Frank possibly needed a spare notebook or pencil, but even greater hesitation caused you to repress that gesture in case he was choosing not to do his work on purpose. He was a man of his own, you supposed.

"Hey..." You sucked in a breath, eyelashes fluttering in nervousness as you gaze over at the skeptical kid, shoulders stiff. Frank had his head lowered, eyes averted to the table as he turned his palm towards you, his voice a light, annoyed grumble, "Think you could spare a pencil?"

Seeing the rather beat up composition notebook he had miraculously thrown onto the table, you blink away your shock and whisper back, "Yeah, just one moment please."

Maybe, you thought with a tingle of hope pounding desperately within your chest, maybe Frank Morrison wasn't such a bad kid. You surely hoped not. This year sure was looking up to being a strange one. "Thanks..." He turned towards you, his hand grabbing your wrist instead of the pencil, and you freeze in horror at seeing the ruby blade clenched tightly in his other fist below the table, "Now give me your money."

Well... Maybe this year wasn't looking up after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow Frank... Great first impressions. You too Tate! Honestly, this is one of the weirdest, most intriguing ideas I've come up with, I think. And I'm even gonna go ahead and allow comments to see what viewers think. Depending on the credit, this weird boy might get a future!


End file.
